


Wasp: Part 2 Gates

by Tiberia1313



Series: Wasp [2]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ethical Dilemmas, Ethics, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Investigations, Nazis, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiberia1313/pseuds/Tiberia1313
Summary: Lilith's activities have gotten the attention of the local cape team, the Miskatoniks, and she is on course for the secrecy of her existence to be dispelled.
Series: Wasp [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167671
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Gates 2.1

**Author's Note:**

> still learning Ao3's interface, so title and settings may change as I figure it all out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple weeks after the attack on the museum Lilith has acquired a new body, and with it uncomfortably returns to her norm. As she eeks out an existence on the outskirts of Arkham society, living off the streets and shrinking away from any attention, she struggles with the ethical burden of her actions. She chats with an online acquaintance, maybe even friend, using the computers at a public library, and discusses with them the ethical nature of the choice she made at the museum, while hoping to avoid drawing attention from her fellow library patrons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the 2nd arc of the Wasp Series

It had been a couple weeks since the fight with Phantasmagoria, and the attack on the museum. Vahti sat at his desk in the lighthouse, his mind still drifting back to the shocking events. Just over half a dozen people were dead. Many more would have died if not for an apparent miracle. People in Arkham whispered that God’s hand was at work that day. He did not believe divinity had anything to do with it, but so little was understood about parahumans that he couldn’t dismiss even that as nonsense.

Lain before him on the desk were various autopsy, medical, and investigation reports provided to him by the local police. Contrary to his hopes, they only raised questions not answers. One of the victims, a Meredith Gild, had been dead for a week before the attack. Her body had already begun decomposition, and was supposed to be in a county morgue a couple dozen miles away, not in a museum in Arkham. Junkyard Inferno’s goggles had been cut, there was a strange puncture wound beside his left eye, and his sudden change of heart remained unexplained. The damage to Angel’s Red’s eyes and the primary detonator for the bombs were just as unexplained.

The Police chalked it up to whatever the teenage boy’s powers must have been, but Vahti wasn’t convinced. The police were happy to leave the ‘cape shit’ to him, and washed their hands of the matter.

There was a knock at the lighthouse office door. Vahti turned to see Dunwich standing in the doorway. His costume was a classy affair, looking every bit like a turn of the century professor, with a half mask to hide his identity. Outside the costume he was known as Kaleb. “Are ye still puzzling over that mystery of yours?” His voice was almost lyrical with its thick Irish brogue. 

Vahti nodded. “Yes, and I will until I have answers.”

“Didn’t ye hear the father at mass? Jesus, Joseph, and Mary smiled upon us and made all the bad men go away. Amen.” Kaleb held a devilish grin as he leaned against the doorway.

Vahti smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps if you said it was Krishna I would believe it. He’s more proactive than your carpenter.”

Kaleb took off his mask and laughed. “Fair enough. But what’s the point of obsessing over this? Wouldn’t it be better to figure out who hired them?”

“The PRT is already working on that, and there is little I can do to help.” Vahti put a hand on the pile of reports. “This I can pursue.”

“Well pursue it later. It’s your turn to go on patrol. If you need me, I’ll be on the couch doing important work.” Kaleb departed to play video games.

Vahti organized his desk before donning the yellow mask and kingly yellow robes. He opened a window that looked out over the southern half of the city, and stepped out into the open air. A golden orb formed beneath his feet, and carried him aloft as he began his patrol as Hastur.

Lilith walked the streets of Arkham with her eyes cast down, arms folded tight, hood up, heading for the library. People gave her a wide berth, and she told herself she was alright with that. She got anxious when dealing with people, and they were less likely to notice her body was a corpse if they kept away.

The body was ‘new’, gotten out of the morgue less than a week ago. Usually she went further afield, but she had been desperate to have hands and feet again. Every moment spent as just a swarm reminded her of what that swarm could do, what she had become, what she had done. 

She stood by the choice she made, but couldn’t stop herself from replaying it in her mind over and over again, and each time re-examining her reasoning just in case she missed something, just in case she had let some bias slip by and tip her mental scales of justice. The lack of non-wasp body only exacerbated this and she had needed relief, so she had risked the city morgue. There was always the possibility someone would recognize the body, but if she kept her head down the risk would be minimal, and she wouldn’t need to explain herself. She could go about her day of barely existing.

The public library was a welcoming confine. So long as her body didn’t yet smell of sickly sweet decay and she didn’t bother anyone she was allowed to stay awhile, use the computer, and read the books. It wasn’t the university library with its access to journals, and collections of primary sources all in one place waiting to be picked up and referenced, but it was a library. She struggled to think of a library without some good quality to it. Maybe one devoted to national socialism. But even then such a library could provide a great deal of warmth.

Lilith stifled a laugh at her own internal joke as she sat down at the computer most tucked away in a corner away from others. She plugged a flash drive in and ran the executable on it. A chat program made for secure communication booted up. There was only one person she talked to with it. To her relief, Wither was on.

* * *

LegionXIII:: Hey

Wither13:: What’s up?

* * *

Lilith considered the question. She just wanted to talk, but wasn’t sure what to talk about. But she didn’t want to miss her chance to talk to her friend. Were they friends? Did online friends count? They’d never met. She didn’t even know what she looked like. But she was the only person other than Sam she talked to. 

* * *

Wither13:: Legion?

* * *

She had taken too long to reply. She typed fast to cover her lapse.

* * *

LegionXIII:: I’m fine

Wither13:: You don’t seem fine

LegionXIII:: Sorry!

Wither13:: Do you want to talk about it?

* * *

Lilith stared long at the screen. She’d only just sat down and she had mucked up the most basic of human interactions. Now what could she say? How could she convince Wither that she felt fine? Did she feel fine? Her hands remained still upon the keyboard as she looked inward. There was something to talk about after all.

It took three drafts before she committed to hitting the enter key.

* * *

LegionXIII:: I’m still thinking about the fight at the museum

Wither13:: Try not to think about it. You did the right thing. Focus on the people who will live because of what you did.

LegionXIII:: But consequences don’t make an action good?

Wither13:: What?

LegionXIII:: Consequentialist ethics are flawed

* * *

Lilith’s fingers flew faster and faster across the keyboard as she typed out the explanation. She had to backspace often as she fought off rigor mortis, but she scarce noticed. As she hit enter, she felt for a moment like her old self.

* * *

LegionXIII:: One must first define what a good consequence is, then one must suppose a moral agent possesses agency over consequences. These aren’t insurmountable, but there is the problem of consequentialist ethics being prone to stripping persons of dignity. Which is admittedly a controversial stance, but I think it can hold up on the basis that consequences are inherently exterior to a person, and so if good is in the consequences of an action, intended or actual, then it is exterior to the person. The person then is a catalyst of good, but not a participant in it. They are tools for the synthesizing of good. And while most conceptions of good are meant to benefit those persons, that is easily forgotten as it is not an intrinsic part of the dynamic. This is why I say consequentialist ethics are prone to stripping persons of dignity, not that they necessarily do.

Wither13:: In english

LegionXIII:: But that was in english?

Wither13:: Speak in a way I can understand.

LegionXIII:: Oh!

LegionXIII:: What I mean is an action is not good for its results, or even its intended results. It’s right to desire certain results, but that isn’t what makes an action good.

Wither13:: Okay, then what does?

LegionXIII:: Acting from a good will

LegionXIII:: Which means Intending to do your moral duty

Wither13:: ?

* * *

Lilith stared at the screen, uncomprehending of where she’d lost her friend. Whether they were friends remained uncertain, but she had to set that aside for now. As her eyes remained locked on the screen she pondered instead how other people seemed to communicate so easily. Most people managed to talk without confusing their friends. What did they know that she didn’t?

* * *

LegionXIII:: I’m trying to keep it simple, sorry

Wither13:: Look, I’m not stupid. I just didn’t get to go to college. I lost my chance.

LegionXIII:: I’m sorry :(

LegionXIII:: I really am. 

LegionXIII:: I can just leave you alone if you want

* * *

It wasn’t even a minute, but even mere seconds felt like hours as he waited for the reply. Elsewhere in the library a class from a local middle school arrived.

* * *

Wither13:: No. It's fine. What does this have to do with the fight

LegionXII:: I sometimes wonder if studying philosophy made me worse at communicating. I was already pretty bad : /

LegionXIII:: We can move on, sorry

LegionXIII:: I keep reviewing my thinking, checking and double checking to make sure I did right. I’m sure I was acting from a good will, but that’s not enough. You have to also figure out what you have a duty to do correctly. You can act from a goodwill, and still get it wrong, because you didn’t know something, or you reasoned wrong.

LegionXIII:: It can be terrifying when someone acts from a goodwill, and does terrible things.

LegionXIII:: “I cry when angels deserve to die”

* * *

In the corner of the library the hoodied girl from off the street muffled her laugh in a dirty sleeve— a new one, the old had been lost at the museum— as she forced back painful thoughts and memories, burying them under the macabre mirth.

* * *

Wither13:: Where does the self righteous suicide come in?

LegionXIII:: lol

Wither13:: I’ll try to understand.

Wither13:: You have duties to do certain things, but they aren’t related directly to any consequences

LegionXIII:: It’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes.

Wither13:: And your actions are good if your intent is to do those moral duties? And that’s a good will?

Wither13:: And I know it’s more complicated than that

LegionXIII:: Yes [edited]

LegionXIII:: Sorry

Wither13:: it’s fine. You don’t have to apologize for everything

Wither13:: And you can ‘act from a good will’ but still do the wrong thing? If it was wrong, how could it be good?

LegionXIII:: Imagine a crusader. He thinks he has a moral duty to conquer the holy land and kill in the name of christ. If he does so because it is his moral duty to do so, then he’s acting from a good will. This is admittedly a looser application of the idea than how most apply it, but that’s academic. Lol. But point is he is NOT doing the right thing, even as he acts from a goodwill

Wither13:: So the crusaders were good?

* * *

It was only seven and a half keystrokes— three characters, two typos, two backspaces, and a hold of the shift key— but the gut reflex rush to type it out drew attention from one of the chaperoning parents with the field trip.

* * *

LegionXIII:: NO!

LegionXIII:: Maybe that was a bad example

Wither13:: yes. very.

LegionXIII:: Besides most crusaders were doing it for some personal reward, not moral duty.

Wither13:: And the ones that weren’t?

LegionXIII:: : /

LegionXIII:: I’d argue they still aren’t as they weren’t giving the people they killed proper moral consideration

LegionXIII:: This does present a problem of determining when a person’s reasoning is honestly flawed, and when it's willfully negligent. The latter is what I think the case is.

Wither13:: And why you are so worried about making sure your reasoning is right? Otherwise its negligence? So it's a duty to think about what your duty is?

LegionXIII:: YES!

* * *

Lilith held back from pumping her fist. Wither was getting it, which meant she had managed to explain something in a way that could be understood. It felt pathetic how great such a minor victory felt, but she forced those doubts aside. She had to enjoy what she could. She hoped Wither felt just as jazzed about it.

* * *

Wither13:: Okay? So what’s so complicated about what you did at the museum? You had a duty to help those people, to try to save them, right?

LegionXIII:: Yes, but I also had to consider my moral duty to Junkyard Inferno

Wither13:: He was a monster. You owed him nothing

LegionXIII:: That’s not true. That’s actually the sort of reasoning a crusader would have used. Its dehumanizing an ‘other’

Wither13:: Excuse me?!

LegionXIII:: It's one of the most common ways to be negligent. You say someone else isn’t worthy, deserving of, or owed moral consideration, letting you justify doing anything. But moral consideration isn’t about deserving, owing, or worthiness. If they are a person, then you need to give them moral consideration. No exception.

LegionXIII:: I’ll spare you the talk about “Dignity” for now

Wither13:: IF that’s how it works, then how do you justify killing him? Killing anyone?

* * *

As Lilith began to type out her reply there was a small cough to her side, like someone clearing their throat. She ignored it. Whoever it was probably didn’t want some strange trash girl looking at her while they dealt with a dry throat or something.

There was another cough, louder this time. Lilith hunched further over the keyboard, straining to reduce her profile, to become as unobtrusive as she could, to just let the person be.

“Excuse me.” A woman said, holding back annoyance from her voice. She kept her voice instead as light and cheery as a pastel landscape painted onto the walls of a gated community.

Lilith looked up to see a woman with light skin, and brown hair looking down at her. “C-c-can I help you?” Her voice was strained, but not too raspy. The body was fresh enough that the voice remained functional.

“I was just wondering if you were almost done with the computer. I don’t mean to be a bother, but some of the kids may want to use it.” A forced smile crossed the woman’s face.

Lilith looked at the class group. A librarian was teaching them about the various services offered by the library beyond just the lending of books. She then looked to the other computers. It was a weekday during business hours. There were several open computers. She looked last at the woman. She opened her mouth to say something, but wasn’t sure what to say.

Did she point out that the kids were busy? That there were other computers? That she had a right to use the library like anyone else? What ended up coming out was just mumbled half thoughts.

The woman sighed and walked away, off to find a librarian.

Lilith watched her go for a while, replaying the encounter over and over again, trying to decipher her mistakes. She would ask Sam later. Now, they re-read Wither’s last message to get back on her own train of thought

* * *

Wither13:: IF that’s how it works, then how do you justify killing him? Killing anyone?

LegionXIII:: Justification is the wrong word. It has a vert post hoc connotation. Like you did the action, and afterward you figure out why it was right, not IF it was right, which you should do before the action.

LegionXIII:: But to answer the question, I had conflicting duties. I had a duty to him to not kill him (why killing someone is wrong is a whole other fascinating topic), and I had a duty to the people to do what I could to help them, or reworded as a negative duty, to not ‘just let them die’. I determined that I had a greater duty to the people, not just because there were dozens of them, and one of him. If I were to point out one reason, it is that Junkyard Inferno could have chosen to stop himself, and wasn’t. The people conversely lacked the agency to choose to not be killed. Since they lacked choice, I had a greater duty to help them, because they were in greater need due to lacking power. It was terrible to strip JI of his agency and ability to choose to do the right thing, doing so is one of the most terrible things you can do. But I couldn’t pretend ignorance of his likely choice. If I just left it up to him, and he chose to kill those people while I knew that was what he was likely to choose, then I would be responsible for killing them too. Inaction is a choice. And I had promised Sam it would all be okay. I had a duty to keep my promise. And I guess there is some number game to it, but I find thinking through numbers too much to be dehumanizing.

LegionXIII:: Sorry, that got rambly.

LegionXIII:: I had a duty to JI and the people, but I had a greater duty to those who lacked the power to help themselves than to the one who did have power.

LegionXIII:: Wither?

Wither13:: You really think that monster deserved your ‘moral consideration’?

LegionXIII:: Of course? Everyone does

LegionXIII:: Is everything alright?

* * *

Lilith shrunk into herself as she waited for the reply. Her anxiety ate at her bit by bit. There was movement in her peripheral vision. She turned to see what it was. One of the librarians was standing where the woman with concerns about computer use had been. Lilith spotted that woman watching a detached but near distance away.

“I’m sorry, but how much longer do you think you’ll be?” The librarian glanced back at the woman for a moment and sighed.

“I don’t- I don’t know?” Lilith answered.

“We’ve gotten some complaints, and concerns about,” The librarian hesitated before speaking the last word. “Hygiene.”

Lilith reflexively smelled at her sleeve. She smelled very little, many of the olfactory cells likely dead already. The wasps didn’t interpret things the same way humans did, so their senses of smell were little help even as they clung to the corpse itself, faces right upon it.

There was another movement in her periphery. This time it was a new message popping up.

* * *

Wither13:: Even after all he’d done?

* * *

Lilith began to reply, but then recalled she was talking to someone else as well. “Sorry. I need to answer this. I can be done soon. Sorry.” She tried to turn her attention back to the computer, but the librarian moved to stay just in view.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to wrap up what you’re doing and go.” She asserted, though her face failed to harden.

“Soon. Ju-just give me some time.” Lilith continued to type, now with the pressure of a ticking clock speeding her on.

The librarian noticed the chat window. “Did you install a program on the computer?” She leaned in for a closer look.

“N-n-no! I’m running it from a drive. Th-that’s not against library policy. I checked.” Lilith continued to type fast as she stuttered and stumbled through her words.

* * *

LegionXIII:: There’s no such thing as a moral event horizon. It’s never ‘too late’ for anyone. Even the worst. That’s why it's a tragedy. JI lost his chance to become a better person, and I’m the one who took that from him.

Wither13:: I need to go

* * *

“Shit.” Lilith cursed under her strained voice. Had she been too hasty? Maybe if she had taken more time?

“I don’t want to be rude, I’m just doing my job, ma’am.” The librarian said, straightening up. “Please make this easy.”

Lilith ignored her, automatically just repeating her pleadings for time.

* * *

LegionXIII:: Is it something I said? I’m sorry

Wither13:: Yes

Wither13:: No

Wither13:: I just need to be alone to think about some things.

LegionXIII:: Okay. I’ll talk to you some other time

LegionXIII:: Sorry

Wither13:: You don’t need to apologize for everything. I’ll be fine.

[Wither13 is now offline]

* * *

Lilith leaned back. She closed the window and unplugged the flashdrive.

“Thank you.” The librarian escorted her out of the building, back onto the street. It was a cloudy day, and it had begun sprinkling.


	2. Gates 2.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the street, Lilith gets a text from her only for-certain friend, inviting her to a party. Despite a history of failure in such things, Lilith picks herself up and chooses to take the chance and make yet another attempt at making friends. But fortune has other plans for her day as she stumbles onto deadly things and heartbreaking things.
> 
> Meanwhile, Hastur finds a lead for the strange mystery that began at the museum.

Hunger was the ever present companion. By her last count, Lilith had one thousand seven hundred and thirteen mouths to feed, each one a tiny voice demanding to eat. This had taken her to the old turn of the century alleyways where trash and refuse was put out. The air was sweet with decay, and heavy with the evaporating water of the mid-morning sprinkling. It was as if she was searching through a swamp.

Finding food for her wasps was a simple enough matter. Omnivorous did not begin to describe them, because it implied they were limited to just any type of food. In truth, she had found little they could not eat. The trash can before her was one giant cornucopia.

A most cursed blessing of this was that everything tasted different than it would to a human, and none of it tasted bad. Rotting meat and fresh meat were distinct, but she could eat either and call it good. Fresh was her preference only because it made her feel like a person, and no matter how many times she told herself this was a fallacious connection, that no good theory of personhood was based on diet, the deep and fierce hooks of culture tore at her and a voice called her parasite, scavenger, plague.

These voices began to whisper then, now armed with the lingering self doubt of the museum fight. The week had been warm, the day was humid. All she found was that rotting food she despised, already being taken by flies and smaller things. The thousand mouths called to eat, but she moved on. She told herself it was because there was nothing for the human body to eat. This excuse rang hollow in her own mind. She didn’t need to feed her body, whatever arcane mechanism of reanimation was at work saw to that, but without food it would decay faster, move slower, and feel less.

As she resumed walking the streets, she could feel some of the wasps nearing their ends. Without food she would need to self cannibalize soon.

“Stupid. It’s just a cultural norm. Just go back.” Lilith tore into herself with words spoken aloud, drawing stares from those who could hear her. 

Despite her own words, she kept walking, now with more space given over to her. Those who heard her mutterings wrote her off as another casualty of society, another person who fell through the safety nets, another of the walking dead to be ignored. With a dark laugh, Lilith thought about how if there was one thing the people of North Arkham were good at, it was ignoring suffering that wasn’t their own.

The phone Sam had bought for her buzzed in her hoodie’s pocket.

* * *

Sam:: Do you want to go to a party later?

* * *

Lilith stared at the screen for a long while, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. A party? Her guts twisted up, and a thousand bodies twitched their wings. She’d never been to a party. She was never sure if she was grateful for that. Her imagination only ever showed her visions of anxiety, and greater loneliness. All she could see was her standing in a corner, watching as others made connections, while she stood isolated and alone in the midst of so many.

* * *

Lilith:: I don’t know. I’m not great with people.

Lilith:: And this body is starting to rot. There were complaints at the library.

Sam:: Oh, right. Sorry, I should have thought of that before springing this on you

Sam:: I was hoping to introduce you to some friends of mine. But we can do that some other time

Sam:: We can just hang out in my apartment

* * *

Other friends? It wasn’t surprising that Sam had other friends. It was surprising that they would want them to meet Lilith. She would just embarrass them, or worse if their friends learned what Lilith was.

But, if Sam introduced them to other people, she wouldn’t be alone among others. Maybe they would even become her friends. Hope sprang eternal. She had felt such hope before. She had tried so many times before. A bit of her died with every failure. But hope sprang eternal. Sam was her friend. Wither might be her friend, unless she had messed that up earlier. That meant it was possible for her to have friends.

* * *

Lilith:: NO!

Sam:: ?

Lilith:: I’ll go

Lilith:: To the party

Lilith:: I’ll figure something out for my body

Sam:: Really? Awesome!

Sam:: You’re going to have a great time. I’m sure they’ll like you

Sam:: Meet at my place at 6. I can lend you clothes if you like.

Lilith:: Ok

* * *

The phone was repocketed. Lilith let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. A party. She was going to a party. With people. People who would be in close proximity to a week old corpse. It was too late to back out. She had said she would figure something out. She had until six to keep that promise, and eat enough to quiet the hunger awhile. If she finished early enough she might even have time to borrow Sam’s computer to check on Wither.

She resumed walking as she thought through what she could do. Acquiring a new body was the most obvious and most desperate solution. Taking a body from the hospital morgue had been a risk. To take a second so soon was a fool’s act. The only other option was to cover the smell. There was a block of small shops a short walk away. She recalled there was a beauty shop among them, and a Sub N’ Go franchise. With luck she could find thrown out perfume, and tossed bread.

The alley itself was sealed off with chain link gates at either end. With the ever threatening rigor mortis it wasn’t certain if she could get over it. She huffed and kicked the fence. It rattled, but little else. Trying to leap it was still possible, but any injuries suffered doing so would remain, the body wouldn’t heal. She wanted to search the alley first before risking such damage.

A doorway to a sprinkler system’s control room gave her somewhere to sit out of sight. Wasps began to swarm out of the hoodie and into the alley. They spread out over the whole area, careful to always remain within one or two meters of each other so as to not break connection. Dull silver wasps searched through every dumpster, refuse pile, and trash can.

The beauty shops' trash smelled of flowers and spices. The aroma brought with it recollection. Lilith could remember going to that beauty shop with friends. She could recall laughing, and wishing to dye her hair. But it wasn’t her in those memories. They were the memories of the previous occupant of the body. The toe tag had said her name was Maria Chavez. She enjoyed the fragmented memories of time spent in the shop. They were mostly happy memories.

She had to set the memories aside, and focus on what brought her there. She searched through the trash from top to bottom for the sources of the smell. More wasps joined the search. Then she found it. In a ripped plastic bag was a collection of glass and plastic bottles. Their tops had been removed and their contents drained. The smell was just the lingering droplets that had not been sent down the drain

Just as her spirit was falling, she hit the jackpot behind the Sub N’ Go . Bread thrown out from the night before was stale, but with minimal mold. There were a few bags of lettuce past the freshness date as well, and a bag of cold frost bitten chicken tossed out just that morning. Back in the doorway the human body shuddered as the wasps swarmed over the feast. 

Lilith had begun to stand up with the body and ascend the fence to join the rest of her, when someone undid the gate at the other end of the alley and entered. There were three men, dressed in polos and jeans, with windbreakers despite the temperate weather for the day. One of them locked the gate behind them, and the three headed deeper into the alley, heading toward where Lilith feasted.

“Where’d he say he stashed the goods?” Asked one of them. He wore a black bandanna around his neck.

“In the trash by that dumpster over there.” Answered another with sunglasses on, tilting his head rather than taking a hand out of a pocket to point.

“Do we really have to dig through all that shit?” The third whinged. His fists were out of pockets, flexing with impatience. On the knuckles of his right hand was tattooed “1933”.

“You do.” The one in Sunglasses snickered.

The tattooed man groaned and went over to the dumpster to dig while the other two kept watch.

“Why are we here anyway?” The man with the bandanna asked.

“Quiet. Someone might hear.” Sunglasses hissed.

“Who? We’re the only ones here.” Bandanna shot back.

Sunglasses glared at his companion. “I almost got busted back in Brockton Bay cause an idiot couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and a little old lady heard him. Now shut your face, or do you want to be the one to explain to Surtr why we got run out of town before we could even get started?”

“Alright, alright. Shit.” Bandanna held up his hands. “Which is all anyone fucking tells me. Shit.”

Tattoos looked up from the trash. “Maybe we don’t tell you anything because you keep talking to little old ladies?” He and Sunglasses laughed. 

“Very fucking funny.” Bandanna growled. “Just asking a fucking question.”

“Shit!” Tattoos reeled back from the trash.

“What is it?” Sunglasses’ head was on a swivel. His hand reached for a gun tucked into his belt.

“There’s fucking wasps all over the trash!” Tattoos complained.

Bandanna rolled his eyes. “And you give me shit?” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a jacket pocket and went over to Tattoos. He lit up a cigarette and began smoking.

Tattoos coughed. “Do you gotta blow it right in my face?”

“Yeah. I do. Now just watch. I’ll show you how it’s fucking done, pussy.” Bandanna knelt down by the trash and began taking deep drags from the cigarette, and blowing them out over the trash. “Learned this on my uncle’s farm. It calms their shit.” He began searching the trash. Tattoos reluctantly joined him.

The smoke was irritating, but not debilitating. Lilith continued to search the trash for whatever it is the men had come for, playing mollified for the sake of appearances. As they moved deeper, she moved ahead, until they were both on the last pile to be searched.

She found the cardboard box underneath a bag of shredded paper, and a pile of coffee grounds. The men were not far from discovering it. She chewed at a corner of the box with razor sharp mandibles, until she could get a look inside. She saw brass casings.

Tattoos picked up the box. “Found it. Let’s get the- Fuck!” Wasps had begun to sting and bite him. “You said it calmed their shit!”

Bandanna untied his signature item and began whipping it about to clear away the wasps. Lilith noticed the twin lightning bolts of the SS on it.

Sunglasses ran to the opposite end of the Alley from where they came and unlocked the gate. “Come on!”

Tattoos and Bandanna ran for it, the swarm of enraged wasps stinging and biting them every step of the way. Before Sunglasses could shut and lock the gate again, Lilith leapt at Tattoos with what had been Maria. She threw a fist low with wild abandon. It caught him in the gut, doubling him forward. She followed it up with a haymaker to the head. The wasps continued to swarm, distracting Sunglasses and Bandanna long enough for her to pick up the dropped package, and run.

Lilith had not thought further ahead than stealing the box. Did she take it to the police? They’d want to ask her questions, and there was no way things would end well for her. She would have to get an anonymous tip to the police, or the Miskatoniks. But more important than that, she had to keep the box of ammunition out of the hands of the neo-nazis. She made for the riverside.

The Miskatonic river ran straight through Arkham, dividing it between the north and the south. It was the namesake of the famed university, and the local hero team. Lilith reached one of the foot bridges that crossed the river, the three men gaining ground on the rigor mortis ridden girl. The wasps continued to sting and bite, but still they came. 

Halfway across the bridge, Bandanna reached for the street rat. She threw the box over the edge.

“No!” He cried, futilely reaching out, trying to grab the box out of the air. “You bitch!” He lashed out with a clenched fist.

Lilith caught the blow on her forearms, raised in a boxer’s defense. Her return blows caught him off guard. She wasn’t wholly ignorant of how to fight. She knew enough to catch an angry fascist off guard, but not enough to fight off multiple people who had real experience and now knew she wasn’t defenseless. 

The swarm gathered upon her, and clung on with their fearsome mandibles. Over the railing she leapt, diving feet first into the water. The shouts of the men on the bridge were muffled, and became distant and imperceptible as she swam down. Neither the wasps nor her dead body needed to breathe. She picked a direction she assumed was roughly south, and began swimming along the floor.

The waters were cold, and had a murk like a fog. Some light pierced the depths, and in the haze of silt could be seen the shifting shadows of fish. The scene felt familiar, tied to more memories that were not her own. Memories that carried with them a weight of finality. Lilith turned from the memories, scared of what she’d find if she did not. There were other matters to focus on anyhow.

Some of the wasps had been damaged by the hydrostatic shock of breaching the surface, several had been knocked loose. Fish picked these off. More wasps detached, using wings like fins to maneuver, and fend off the predations as best they could. But the waters were not their home, and the fish continued their attrition, slowed at times, but never stopped.

Most of her population crawled into her clothes for safety, and she pushed herself to swim faster. A glint of something on the river bed distracted her for a moment. It was the box of ammunition she had tossed. It was safely out of the hands of those who would use it, but it was also the only evidence she had that trouble was coming. Getting that to someone was risky, but could save lives.

There was one place she could take it to be safe, and to be a warning. She scooped the box out of the silt and let the current pull her downriver toward Wendigo island. The dark outline of the stony extrusion in the middle of the waterway loomed ahead. With a single hand on the rocks, she pulled herself to the surface.

Looking back, she saw no sign of the men. She had been down below longer than humanly possible. They’d have assumed she drowned, but in case they didn’t she hurried to climb onto the island and drop off her package. The island had a few trees planted in sandy soil. Upon the island was the Lighthouse, built by an eccentric many years ago, with a fresnel lens of many colors like no other. There was little point to it this far inland, but it had become a landmark of the city, and was now the headquarters of the Miskatoniks.

Lilith wasted no time marveling at the great construction. She dropped the box at the doorstep of the adjoining building, and then ran back into the water.

On the southside she had to swim along the docks until she could find a ladder to pull herself up. The heavy wet clothes pressed down upon the wasps below. She had to crawl all of herself out from under it to get comfortable. The remaining wasps shook water off in a great misting all about her human body. She’d have to just find an alleyway and wait to dry. 

Walking around town water logged would draw too much attention. The river might have helped with the smell, but by the time the party came the problem would be back. She still had to find an answer to that. Despite feeling back at square one, and feeling the chill of soaked clothes, there was a warmth in her spirit. She looked back at the bridge she’d dove off of, and smiled.

At the Mozza of Madness was a local pizzeria, popular with the University students. Lilith had eaten there alone several times, and once with Sam. What she knew it for most however was the vents out back in the alley. They jutted out from the wall, which many garbagemen cursed them for after banging their knees against them as they passed. To a person without warm shelter however these jutting vents were a godsend.

Lilith crouched in the alley, her hoodie draped over one vent, while she sat in front of the other, letting the warm air dry her off. There she ate a tepid piece of pizza, while the rest of her picked through the trash, eating all they could. Some of the wasps copulated, and laid eggs to replenish the numbers lost to the fish. Attrition was her greatest predator. She had to reproduce to outrun it.

“Fuck or die.” Lilith’s laugh at her own joke was half hearted at best. Her stare remained locked dead ahead as she ate. There was no point in looking elsewhere. The wasps could see every angle of the alley already.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. She checked her phone and found it dead. Water damage. She took out the data card and discarded the phone to the side. Her waiting resumed.

Her mind turned to Wither. They had been talking online for nearly a year. She didn’t know much about her, other than she was another cape whose powers ruined their body. She didn’t know what her powers were beyond vague references to being hard to kill. She didn’t know where she lived. She didn’t know if they were even really friends, and was too afraid to ask. She only had Sam to compare to, but she knew Sam outside a computer screen. How did one judge that?

She had at least come to accept Sam was her friend. They had had to hammer it into her many skulls before she had accepted the fact that she had finally made a friend. The circumstances of their meeting had been extreme, but by now it had shown itself to last. Later she would go to a party with them, and maybe make more friends. Maybe it wasn’t so wild an idea that Wither was already her friend?

Time ticked on. She remained as still as a statue by the vent. The wasps had eaten their fill. All there was to do was explore onward, so she did so as she waited.

It occurred to her after some further waiting that she could just ask Sam to get her something. She didn’t want to be a burden, but maybe she could just ask this small thing of her friend? Maybe that would be okay? For once, she felt like it might be. But she compiled a list of places to check for discarded perfume first. She just had to wait a little while longer. She was almost dry.

“Maria?”

Lilith looked to her right where a heavy set man stood in a chef’s apron. He stared at her with eyes wider than his open gasping mouth.

Her father.

No, not her father. Maria’s father. The father of who her body had been. The memories began to fade into her awareness. They were distinctly not her own, but she experienced them as if they were. They were just disparate fragments like before, but they told enough to be more than mere snapshot. A blur of masses attended. Anxious midnight rendezvous. A fight. Tears. Despair building to tragedy and disaster.

The Father ran up to her, and fell to his knees, embracing her. He cried as he called out his dead daughter's name.

Lilith seized up. Thoughts crashed against anxiety and uncertainty and went no further. All she could do was sit there, caught in a silent scream.

The father pulled away, eyes red and inflamed with tears. “It’s really you.”

Lilith opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. There was the impulse to speak, but nothing to say, nothing good.

“I’m sorry.” The father sobbed. “I wish I had said nothing.” His gaze buried into her, desperate for absolution. “I’ll do better this time.”

Lilith shook her head.

The father’s mouth moved, failing to form words, as lost and confused as the one across from him.

With a force of will, Lilith forced words to come out. “I ca-can’t stay.”

“What?” The words were soft, coming from him like a breath.

“I can’t stay.” Lilith repeated. She had begun to cry now, surprised to learn the tear ducts were still intact.

“But I can do better. Please, Maria. Stay. Let me make it right.” The father pleaded.

“I know you can, but I can’t stay.” Lilith held firm. A way out was forming in her mind. She prayed this was one of the two times her clock would be right that day. “I have to go… dad.”

“But why? Where are you going?”

Lilith managed a smile, watching through wasp eyes to adjust it, to be as genuine as she could make it.

The Father’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled her back into his tight embrace, and could do naught but cry.

“You can do better.” Lilith assured him. It was difficult to speak through sobs. Maria was dead, It was too late to fix that. But maybe there was some good still to be done with this tragedy.

“I will.” The father sobbed. In that moment the whole of the world was that alley. A failed father, and his daughter were the whole of mankind.

“Goodbye, dad.” Lilith followed and sniffed back her own tears. She let out a long shuddering breath. It took three tries to say what she needed to, but at last she choked them out. “I love you.”

Maria went limp. The Father mourned his child a second time. Unseen by him, a dull silver wasp crawled out of her ear, and joined the rest of its swarm. The swarm remained for a short while, then departed.

There would be no party for her, but Lilith knew she’d not change a single thing about that day, no matter how much she hurt.

Hastur drifted through the sky over Arkham, standing atop a golden orb, his eyes vigilant for any troubles he would have to deal with. He had already heard about one possible theft, with three men chasing a homeless person who appeared to have stolen something. He had not found these three men, but there were plenty of witnesses to the chase. They had been seen going to the south side of town, but no-one there had seen them. The chase ended somewhere around the bridge. 

That was as far as the trail had taken him, and no further. It would likely remain a mystery. Another call had come in, diverting him from that search. He saw the Mozza of Madness up ahead— chuckling internally at the pun, as he always did— and went to the alley behind it.

The orb he rode shrank as he descended, until he was able to simply step off onto the ground. The alley before him had a few people in it; The officer who had answered the call, the paramedics who had come to deal with the errant corpse, and Antonio Chavez, the owner of the Mozza of Madness and father of the errant corpse.

“What’s the situation?” Hastur asked as he stepped into the alley.

The officer approached him. “Mr. Chavez claims heaven sent his daughter Maria back to say goodbye.”

Hastur looked at the pale face of Maria as the paramedics pulled the zipper of the body bag closed. “I do not see how he could come to that conclusion.”

“That’s the thing. He claims she was alive when he found her, and that she talked to him.” The officer shrugged. “I figure he’s just crazy, but thought I might as well call you. Weird shit is your department.”

Hastur nodded, and approached Antonio. “Mr. Chavez. You say your daughter was alive when you found her?”

Antonio wiped his nose on his sleeve. “You don’t believe me?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It happened.” He let out a long shuddering breath. It felt so much like a dream.

“I believe you.” Hastur stated.

“You do?” Antonio looked up at the yellow king with shocked eyes.

Hastur nodded. “Tell me everything.”

Antonio told Hastur the whole story. Not just the encounter in the alley, but the whole tragedy of which he was to blame. He told all, confessing to Hastur like a priest, but as his story ended, tears returning to his eyes, he smiled. “Before she left, she told me I can do better.” He stared at Hastur with hope, and an unspoken promise.

Hastur nodded and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. Something behind him caught his eye. Withcare he picked up a hoodie that had been draped over a vent. It was the sort witnesses had described the homeless thief as wearing. It was damp and smelled of the river.

He began searching the rest of the alley for clues. Antonio said his daughter had been crouched right in front of another vent. There was a waterlogged cellphone with its battery removed to give access to its data card, which he could not find anywhere. The phone itself was cheap, purchasable at any gas station. Not even capable of running apps. Ideal for being disposable, or at least being lost without too much grief.

“Officer, can you relay a request to all the morgues in the region?” Hastur asked after his last sweep.

“Sure.”

“If any more corpses go missing, inform me immediately, with pictures of the missing body for reference. And if possible, check every hour for such missing bodies.”

“Uhh, sure.” The officer shrugged. He left to call back to the precinct to relay the request.

Hastur’s phone chimed twice. He checked it and saw that he had received two messages. One from his teammate Lavinia, the other from his friend Sam.

* * *

Lavinia:: You should come back to the lighthouse to see something. I found a box on our doorstep full of rifle ammunition. It’s soaking wet. Kaleb says he didn’t hear or see anything.

Hastur:: I’m on my way

* * *

Sam:: Hey, are you going to be at the party in the library tonight? I have a friend I wanted you to meet.

Vahti:: It may turn into a busy day, but I’ll try to make the time.

Sam:: Cool. Hope to see you there. I think you two will get along.

* * *

Hastur pocketed his phone and departed for Wendigo island.

Sam picked their phone up off the table, and saw Vahti’s reply. “This is going to go well.” They smiled, pleased that they believed their own words. They set the phone back down.

Dull silver wasps began to stream in through a cracked open window. They gathered on the table by Sam’s phone and formed the word ‘Sorry’.

It took Sam a moment to gather what Lilith was apologizing for. Their shoulders slumped. “Do you have time to find a new body?”

Lilith considered. Her only options were the hospital and police morgues. She had already risked a city morgue recently, and while she held out hope that it had ended well, it had not ended well for her. ‘No’ a moment later she wrote out another apology.

“It's alright, Lilith.” Sam smiled to show that it was. “We can just stay in and watch a movie.”

‘Aren’t you going?’

Sam shook their head. “I’ll make up some excuse.”

The wasps moved about as Lilith tried to think of what to say, settling on a simple ‘Ok’ A moment later she formed more words. ‘Can I—’ She hesitated and restarted, ‘Can you help me check on Wither?’

Sam stifled a laugh. “Sure. I should see about getting you a wasp sized mouse and keyboard.” This time they laughed.

Lilith’s swarm made a sound like stochastic static. Sam had come to recognize this as laughter. They logged onto their computer and loaded up the chat program Lilith and her only other friend used. There was a message from Wither waiting for her.

* * *

Wither13:: Sorry I left suddenly.

Wither13:: You got me thinking about some things that I don’t like to think about.

Wither13:: Like my life.

Wither13:: Life’s been shit to us both. I don’t get how you can keep caring so damn much about being good.

Wither13:: I’m glad you do. I wish I cared more. I wish I had known you years ago. Sometimes I wish I had never even triggered. If I had you as a friend, maybe things wouldn’t have gone so bad.

Wither13:: I won’t say you’re the easiest to talk to, but you are a good friend. I know you care. You sometimes make me think things can actually be better

* * *

Lilith stared at the screen for a while, reading and rereading the messages. Wither wasn’t online.

“Want me to send a reply?” Sam asked.

Lilith began to dictate.

* * *

LegionXIII:: Thanks. I think this is just what I needed to hear

* * *

Sam hit enter and looked to Lilith. “So, what next?”

‘Can you drive me to the police HQ? I need to break into their morgue. Before the party.’

Sam stared at the words twice, then without a word grabbed their keys.


	3. Gates 2.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite a lifetime of loneliness and social failure, Lilith is going to try one more time to reach out and connect with others, her confidence bolstered by the knowledge that for the first time in her life she has not just one friend, but two. But to do so she has to infiltrate the Police morgue and steal a corpse to use as her body.
> 
> Not far behind her is Hastur, bridging the gap between him and his mystery quarry by leaps and bounds.

Infiltrating the police station was easy; Few buildings were impenetrable to determined insects. What worried Lilith more was getting out. She crept along the cheap drop ceiling, burrowing holes through the soft tiles to gauge her location as she went. Above her was the original ceiling, decorated with fanciful plaster work from when the station was first built in the 50s. There was a clutter of cables and ducts hidden in the space between. Old form given over to modern function. Lilith took some time to admire the old decoration, wondering how long it would be till another did so.

The morgue was easy enough to find with the station's adequate signage. Her exit plan took a bit more time. The front was right out. Her next option was the side entrances, but they both opened out onto the open street, and it was doubtful she would get away without witnesses, running through the street naked with the autopsy stitches. That left the back entrance, which opened up into the motor pool ringed with chain link fences, barbed wire and plastic privacy slats. Past that was a short dash to an alley, and hopefully enough cover to get her to where Sam was waiting, doing some research for Lilith as she did so. From the morgue to the back would take her through half the station. She would have to distract the police along the way, and cut a hole in the fence before hand.

Once she felt she had a plan she went to the morgue and looked around. There was a body on the table. It was the body of an older man. It was not to her preference, but it would let her get the other drawers open. The first drawer held a young man with fair skin that had burned in places, but not too many. The toe tag said the cause of death was smoke inhalation. Lilith pushed the drawer closed. She knew she could not be so choosy, but if it could be helped she did not wish to go back to a male body. The next drawer was a middle aged woman, skin removed from at least half her body. Her neck bent at a dire angle. The toe tag said the cause of death was spinal fracture. Lilith closed this drawer too, the body beyond her ability to use. 

The third drawer held a woman Lilith guessed had been in her late twenties. She had had cool brown skin that now dulled in death. The only visible wound was a ragged stab wound just to the right of center of her chest. Toe tag said the cause of death was a punctured heart. Lilith looked at the body, and for a moment could almost imagine that they could have been related, like a half sister she never met. The body of the older man climbed back onto the autopsy table, and the woman climbed off the drawer slab.

Lilith stretched out the rigor mortis through a routine she had long worked out. She flexed joint by joint working out the tightness, steadily regaining her full range of motion. Along a wall were lab coats, but there was no other clothing to be found. It was at least long enough to cover most of her, and would hide the wound.

Wasps obscured camera lenses as she moved. Here and there cops cried out in surprise as they came face to face with the stinging insects. They waved their hands and newspapers to ward them away, but ultimately instincts had them falling back, and out of Lilith’s path. She didn’t have to sting them. The shock and potential for pain was enough.

When she got to the backdoor she found a pair of cops on smoke breaks. They stood right by the door, and would see anyone who came out of it. There was no time to wait for their breaks to end. Every moment spent in the station was a moment all the irregularities she was causing could be noticed as something more than just random fortune. She would have to find a different route. 

An office nearby was empty, with windows that could be cracked open. The old crank for them took a good shove to loosen. Lilith froze, listening for the tell tale signs that someone had heard the squawking of old hardware. No sign came. She opened it the rest of the way, and sent most of herself out.

The cops cursed as they tried to bat away the wasps, but they didn’t move inside like Lilith had hoped. They would get moving if she stung and bit them, but what she was doing was already toeing the line of the moral law. Hurting them to do it felt just a step too far. She needed another idea. Her fingers tapped together as she thought. Then it came.

Lilith leaned out of the office and yelled down the hall to the back door. “H-hey! You’re letting the damn wasps in! Get in here and- and close the damn door!” She shouted at them, hoping the wasps held enough of their attention for the unfamiliarity of the voice to go unconsidered.

The pair did as they’d been shouted at to do. Lilith let out a breath she’d not realized was held, and slipped out the window. It was an anxious sprint across the motor pool, and a tense scramble through the hole in the fence she had made earlier with her wasps. She only relaxed when she made it through the alleys, dashed across a street, and slipped into the waiting car

Sam started the worn blue car as soon as Lilith shut the door. “Looking good.” They complimented, with only a slight laugh of discomfort.

“Thanks. You too.” Lilith panted.

A hint of a blush crossed Sam’s warm tan cheeks. They brushed a lock of hair from their face.

The moment missed Lilith’s awareness, her attention turning to other things. “Were you able to find anything on the name Surtr?”

Sam bit her lip and nodded, feeling as if clouds had rolled into their spring day. “Some, not much. Are you going to stop them?” They looked to Lilith, a tone of hope entering their voice.

Lilith stiffened. She hadn’t thought about it. She was going to find out what she could, and find a way to warn the Miskatoniks, but she hadn’t considered her role past that.

She risked exposing herself, revealing her existence to the PRT, or the world. She was far from the right person for the job. She herself was dangerous. There were plenty of reasons to stay to the shadows, but even as these doubts swept through her head, she began to nod. 

At the museum, she had acted when there was clear and immediate danger. Now the danger was unclear, and the threat was some unknown time in the future, but Lilith looked, and found too little difference to change her duty. People needed help. She would help.

“I- I think I’m going to try.” Lilith stammered. Sam took Lilith’s new hand and gave it a tight squeeze. Lilith held tight. 

Some of the fear in Sam's eye eased away, “I’ll tell you what I found on the way home.” They pulled onto the street and headed south, passing by the police station, putting it behind them.

The three Miskatoniks sat at one table staring at the sopping wet box before them. It was opened to reveal a small hoard of rifle munitions.

“Do we have any idea who dropped this off, or why?” Sara asked She was out of her costume, having thought she was done being Lavinia for the day. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.

“I have a theory, but I’d rather not say it just yet.” Vahti picked up a bullet to examine closer. His yellow mask rested on the table. “As for why, I think it’s a warning. They were trying to tell us someone has plans that required these.”

“What makes you think that?” Kaleb leaned back as he cast doubts in his lyrical brogue. “This is the United States, it’s not exactly hard to get bullets, even for rifles.”

Vahti passed the bullet to Kaleb. “These are 5.56 cartridges, NATO standard. Military grade. You can buy them, yes, but it's not the sort a sportsman would use, and they come in boxes of twenty, not nondescript cardboard boxes full of hundreds.”

Kaleb frowned. “Alright. So someone is stockpiling bullets. Couldn’t they just be smuggling them off to elsewhere? Using Arkham as a middle ground to make deals and exchanges? Seems more likely than an imminent attack.”

Sara frowned as she took the bullet from Kaleb. “But what about the attacks two weeks ago? We still don’t know who hired those mercenaries, or why. It has to be related, right?”

Kaleb let out a long whistle. “Well this town’s on course for a good shagging, ain’t it?” He reached into the box, picked up a handful of bullets and let them rain back down. He and Sara both looked to Vahti. “So what are we going to do about it?”

Vahti put a hand to his chin, and thought in silence. The silence was brief. To his frustration few answers came. They were on the backfoot, with a storm on its way, or already there. “We need to be ready for anything. Keep your costumes and gear on you wherever you go. I’ll talk with the police and see if I can convince them to shift resources toward this.” He stood, “Whatever they have come here to do, they will not find Arkham an easy mark. We will give them a most inhospitable welcome."

“Here here!” Kaleb raised an invisible glass in mock toast, but with a good natured laugh.

“I’ll keep my ears open for any rumors.” Sara got up to change so she could return to land without anyone seeing her true identity leaving the island. “Will you two be going to the party later?”

Kaleb got up and went to the couch. “Incoming maniacs or no, I’ll be there.”

Vahti shook his head. “I expect to be quite busy.”

“Are you sure you can’t spare some time?” Sara asked. “Sam was hoping to introduce us to a friend. She seemed pretty eager.”

Vahti shook his head with a frown. “I know, but my instincts are telling me this is something big.” He looked at Sara and smiled. “You will just have to tell me about them.”

Sara nodded. “Alright. I’ll tell Sam you said hi, and that you’re sorry you couldn’t make it.”

“Thank you.” Vahti bowed his head. 

Sara dressed up in her powder blue costume with flowing ribbons, and departed for the land. Kaleb was soon dressed up as well, departing to prepare for the party and spend some time unwinding. Vahti was left alone in the lighthouse with all his anxieties and pressing questions.

His phone chimed. It was a message from the Arkham Police. A body had gone missing from their morgue. Vahti was dressed and out the door with haste.

Sam’s apartment was a small studio a block away from the University, and subsidized for use by students. The windows were all left open to let hot air out, and Lilith in when she lacked a human body. There was little fear of burglary, because there was little to burgle. Many apartments in the same building had their windows open.

Lilith sat alone in Sam’s apartment, waiting for their return, pondering what they had told her about Surtr. He was a fire based blaster cape from Brockton Bay, and a member of Empire 88. He was a suspect in a few murders and at least one arson. Worse, he didn’t operate alone. He had a partner named Sif, a cape with some sort of cryonic breaker state. She was a suspect in a few cases as well. They had not been heard from in Brockton bay for some time. 

That was all Sam had been able to gather. Lilith wished she had more to go on. But she did have an idea of who could learn more. She logged onto Sam’s computer.

* * *

LegionXIII:: Hey, I promise I haven’t tried to research who you are, but I’ve gathered you have more experience being a cape than me. So I was wondering if you might be able to find some information on a pair of capes?

Wither13:: I’m not sure I can help you find anything you couldn’t yourself. Sorry.

LegionXIII:: I think they’re planning something big, but all I know is their names, Surtr and Sif, some of their powers, and that they’re nazis from Brockton Bay. I just don’t know what they’re planning.

Wither13:: And you’re going to stop them?

LegionXIII:: I’m going to try

Wither13:: What if the PRT learns about you?

Wither13:: You know how the PRT deals with things that can breed and self replicate.

Wither13:: Not to mention mind control

LegionXIII:: It’s not mind control. It’s more of a meat puppetting as far as I can tell

Wither13:: That’s not better, Legion!

LegionXIII:: I know I’m putting myself in danger. I’m terrified, Wither. I don’t want to die.

LegionXIII:: But I couldn’t do nothing at the museum, and I can’t do nothing now. It’s not really that different.

* * *

Lilith clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to calm the shaking. She swallowed. She breathed. She waited for Wither’s reply.

* * *

Wither13:: I’ll see what I can find out.

LegionXIII:: Thank you

Wither13:: Please, stay safe.

* * *

Lilith leaned ack and breathed. Wither was right about the danger, but that didn't change her judgement. All it did was make her fear the future. But the near future maybe had some hope. Trying to focus on that took time. She looked at herself through wasp eyes. 'Herself'. It was hard to see herself in that face, to identify as that person, or even as a person. All her wasps turned away, then turned back, trying again to make the sight of the cool skinned woman click in her mind as herself. the corners of 'her' mouth pulled back as she caught a spark of that identification. It was easier with this body than most. 

The door unlatched, and Sam entered. “I had to guess your size, but I think you’ll like what I got.”

Lilith got up from the computer and took the offered bag from Sam. On the side it read “Thrift in the Witch House.” Lilith groaned. Not all the puns in Arkham were endearing.

“They’re holding a contest to rename the store. I guess you aren’t the first to be physically hurt by it.” Sam laughed lightly.

Lilith pulled a black v-neck shirt, and a plaid purple skirt out of the bag. She admired them, and imagined wearing them. She tried to imagine herself wearing them as she once had been. Then, how she had wished she had been. With wasp legs she crawled along their surfaces, feeling their textures, and examining how they were woven together.

“Are you going to try them on?” Sam asked.

Lilith looked at Sam, then at the clothes, and it clicked. She snorted and chuckled at herself for being so dense. She went to the bathroom to change, with no more need to imagine. When stepped back out, she stood before a wall of wasps and did a short twirl, loving how the skirt spread out. A giggle slipped past her lips. Sam was smiling behind her. There was a click in her mind. She tried a few poses, enjoying the look and feel on 'new' clothes. For a brief euphoric moment, she could identify perfectly with the woman seen by the wasps.

But after a few moments more of glee, her smile faded.

“What is it?” Sam asked. They went to Lilith and took her hand.

“Just scared of whatever’s coming.” Lilith looked away from the mirror. “I want to be able to do this again someday.”

“You will. Whatever’s coming, I know you and the Miskatoniks can handle it.” They turned Lilith back to the mirror. “But tonight this is you. I want you to enjoy it. You deserve to.”

Lilith let out a shuddering breath as a tear ran down her face. “Deserving is an unuseful category—” An amused but stern gaze from Sam stopped her in her tracks. She set the philosophy aside for a moment. “Thank you.” Sam had probably heard that particular ramble before.

“You’re welcome.” Same smiled. “Now, let’s get to the party and introduce you to everyone. Here, put your wasps in this.” They handed Lilith a large messenger bag.

Wasps poured into the bag, piling atop one another. Without needing to breathe, or concerns for body heat, they amassed without trouble. Lilith slung the bag over her shoulder, and together they departed.

Hastur sat in the security room of the police station. They had given him a picture of the woman whose body was now missing from the morgue, and an approximate time for when the body was last confirmed to be present. He fast-forwarded through the security camera footage looking for something, anything. His focus was on the morgue camera. Monotony dragged at his eyelids. The bodies had not been checked often, not until he had requested they be, so there was a whole day to look through.

The video blacked out for a moment, then returned. Hastur hit pause, rewound, and played it back at regular speed.

The morgue was as dead as one would expect a morgue to be. For a moment Hastur wondered if he had just dozed off and mistaken that for the video blacking out, but then his perception was vindicated. The picture disappeared, but now he could see it had not been all at once. He rewound and played it back slowly. Something was covering the lens, but it was impossible to make out the shape. It looked like many overlapping shapes.

He moved on to after the image had cleared. Nothing appeared to be different. He moved back and forth between the before and after, looking for differences. A lab coat went missing off a wall opposite the body drawers. The body on the table shifted slightly.

Hastur’s heart raced with a mixture of excitement and primal fear. He was on the trail of something frightful. He was on the trail of something unknown. He leaned back and saw that one of the other cameras at the same timestamp was now blacked out. 

He rewound and began to watch for screens to black out. Sometimes there were none, sometimes just one, sometimes there were a few. Each with the same impossible to discern shapes covering the lenses. He rewound again, and this time wrote down the camera numbers in the order they blacked out.

With the list ordered he followed them, comparing them to the building layout on the nearest available map, the one on the wall showing how to reach fire escapes. It took some time to make sure he had every camera’s location correct, then he followed the path. It went from the morgue, to the rear of the station where it paused. Then the cameras covering the motor pool were blacked out. He moved the video ahead frame by frame. On a frame right as the obscurement on the lenses was removed, could be seen a pair of cool brown legs, matching the skin tone of the missing body, running into an alley past a hole in the fence.

He pondered how long that hole had been there. He rewound till the whole disappeared then moved forward, watching to see who had come and cut the links and the plastic privacy slats.

No-one came. The hole seemed to just appear. He moved back and proceeded slowly. He made out an arc of static around the outline of where the hole would be. It was difficult to make out, and it took some time for him to be sure he was really seeing it. The resolution was too low to discern what the static was, but it had made the hole.

Hastur leaned back in the chair and considered. The body had not been simply stolen. It had gotten up and left. Just like Antonio’s daughter. More than just leave however, it had exfiltrated itself with care and planning.

As he considered his next move he let the video play, starting from shortly before the final escape. The body had to have gone somewhere, but where? He rewound again, back to the first blacking out of cameras. There had to be some clue he was missing. He turned his attention to other cameras.

Cops appeared to be batting and swatting at insects. Hastur compared these incidents to the map. These too were near the path he’d worked out. The impossible to discern shapes obscuring the lenses began to make sense. He could make out insectile parts now that he knew to look for them. The static on the fence had a possible explanation now.

Possible leads were coalescing in his mind as he pieced details together. He would have to research insects, to see what that might tell him. He’d have to look for witnesses in the area the body had run toward. He’d have to interview the cops who had been present. The leads he had were loose, but he could feel that the hunt was on.

The video was allowed to play on to the final escape, in case there were any other details he had missed. It reached the point of the final escape, but nothing more had presented itself to him. He leaned back to think as the video played on to the time after the escape. 

His mind turned to connecting what he learned to what he’d already encountered. The body theft occurred sometime after Antonio’s encounter with his daughter. It seemed certain that the incidents were connected, and if they were then he may have found the one responsible for the mystery box Lavinia had found on their doorstep. Then there was the museum attack. The dead had arisen there too, but what troubled Hastur more was Junkyard Inferno’s sudden change of heart. He had not been dead when he so turned.

If the hunt was one, then what was he hunting? The fear was cold and quiet, a creeping thing like mist. Ancient forebears whispered ancient instinct into his ear, “Danger. Danger. Fuel a fire. Keep to the light.” He shut them out. He could not heed their words, for in Arkham he was the sheltering fire and the secure light. Something on one of the screens pulled his attention from his own thoughts.

A familiar blue car appeared on one of the cameras, passing by the police station and heading south. Hastur paused. What was Sam doing up north? An instinct tugged at him. They had come from the direction the body had run to. He rewound, and moved frame by frame till he could get the best look at the worn blue car’s occupants. He could see Sam in the driver’s seat. They were looking at someone in the passenger’s seat. All he could see of them was a cool brown leg.

Hastur texted Lavinia.

* * *

Vahti:: Change of Plans. I think I’ll go to the party after all

* * *


End file.
